


The Angel of the Opera

by MundaneChampagne



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Reapers, Archangel - Freeform, Canonical Character Death, Disabled Character, Engineer Shepard, F/M, Murder Mystery, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-11 06:57:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7034584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneChampagne/pseuds/MundaneChampagne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a serial killer preying on humans on the Citadel. At the same time, Kristine Shepard comes across a mysterious man living under a theatre. Are the two connected, and can she unravel all these mysteries before someone else is killed?</p><p>In which Garrus's face inspired me to cast him as the Phantom of the Opera. Blatantly fun AU. </p><p>On hiatus until I get some shit together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> So I made a promise to myself that I would finish all my Mass Effect works-in-progress by November, so that I could dive right back into Dishonored hell without having anything unfinished hanging over my head. 
> 
> This was originally chucked up on the Kink Meme as a half-finished idea, and now it will be finished on Ao3. It will update sporadically, since it is not yet fully written (fully planned though *rubs hands together*). 
> 
> I do love the story of the Phantom of the Opera (go read the novel), and hope everyone has as much fun reading this as I have writing it!

_It's probably just a circuit breaker that tripped_. Yeah, right. If it was as simple as that, she'd toss her tools into the Presidium lake and retire to Illium.

The narrow beam of her headlamp roved over the narrow walls of the duct she was crawling down. It felt like she'd been in here for hours. Kris Shepard checked the scan from her omnitool; there was a junction up ahead, and the bad wiring took a left. Her knee hit a rivet, and she winced.

It could be worse, she told herself. She could be back in Rio, crawling through an obstacle course during N training. Dodging live rounds instead. This position was cushy in comparison. And she wasn't going to give it up, even if her supervisor irked her some days and she had to take care of all sorts of fun problems that the Keepers didn't bother with fixing.

Not after Akuze.

She reached the junction, and bent her head close to examine the electrical conduit. There was the problem. The piping was slashed open, and broken cables protruded. Shepard squinted. It almost looked like…claw marks.

She reached down to her left hip to make sure her pistol was still there.

There was a serial killer in Terra Sector. Bodies had been turning up over the past few months, all mauled beyond recognition. At first people thought it was an escaped varren. But the bodies kept coming, and eventually everyone was forced to admit that a simple predator could not be that intelligent, that brutal. The victims were all taken in silence; one minute there, the next, gone. They were recovered in dark corners, their throats cut and their bodies torn open, organs scattered next to the corpse. People didn't go out alone anymore, and everyone carried guns, regardless of whether they could use them or not.

And the victims. All human. All in Terra Sector. Nowhere else on the Citadel. Either the killer preyed close to home, or desperately hated humans.

Shepard wasn't taking any chances.

She used her omnitool to shut off the power in that area, then pulled out her toolbag. She carefully clipped off the damaged wire ends, then stripped the insulation off and soldered a patch. There was no repairing the conduit. She closed it up with duct tape, and noted the coordinates so a more permanent fix could be put into place later. This would do for now. She restored the flow of power, and carefully shuffled around to make the long trip back through the ducts.

A scuffling noise made her freeze in her tracks.

A duct rat, Shepard told herself. A Keeper. All sorts of things lurked in the Citadel ducts, and most were harmless.

It wasn't necessarily the killer.

Still, she drew her pistol, opened the radar function on her omnitool, and waited.

Instead of the scuffling, a strain of music wafted down and caught her ears.

She was somewhere under the Terra Cultural Centre. The building served as a hub for arts and entertainment in Terra Sector. The power outage had forced them to cancel the evening's opera performance. One of the orchestras must be practicing instead, she figured.

There—! Slipping under the distant music, a much closer shuffling sound. It echoed down the duct to her right, and she turned, the pistol clenched in her hand. She squinted into the dim light. She did not shut off her headlamp. This was the only junction as far as her scans could read. Whatever was coming had to come through here.

And Shepard did not intend to wait for it in the dark.

The noise slowly grew louder.

And the smell of blood preceded it.

Her radar detected one figure, organic, making its way towards her.

She squeezed off two rounds as a shape moved into her vision. The figure jerked back, and vanished around a corner. She could hear muffled swearing, along with the sound of some sort of rifle charging up.

Shit. Her small pistol was no match for a larger gun. Shepard quickly keyed in a sequence on her omnitool, then let the program loose as soon as the figure peeked around the corner again. There was a small explosion, and the rifle barrel sparked.

Shepard was up and crawling away as quickly as she could. There wasn't enough headspace to run, but while it disadvantaged her, it also disadvantaged the person with the gun.

Her leg scraped on another rivet. It should've hurt, but all she felt was a dull burning sensation. That was probably where any fight would end. She was a former Alliance marine, N7 designation. But she was also out of shape, and had the prosthetic leg to contend with. It served her well for most things, but was a hindrance in combat.

Only one of the reasons she'd retired.

She could hear the person coming after her. And she could hear him—it was a him. "My gun, you'll _bleed_ for this—"

The overload charge wouldn't last forever. He was gaining. Shepard turned and fired again. Her headlamp lit on a face—not human. She couldn't tell _what_ he was. The face was terrible—mangled and scarred. Her shots flickered off his shielding. He stopped, and brought up his omnitool. The voice came again, smooth and flat, with a flanging effect that was turian. "You're not the only one with fancy programs," he said.

Too late, Shepard realized what he meant.

His overload charge hit her pistol, and she dropped it as small sparks danced across her hand. But it also got the electronics in her leg, which seized and stiffened. The pain zipped up her spine in a shockwave, and stars burst in front of her eyes before she blacked out.

 

She couldn't feel her leg when she woke.

Shepard swallowed down a wave of panic, keeping her eyes shut. _Breathe_ , she reminded herself. But it was hard. The gap in sensation—it was too much like waking up in the Alliance hospital after Akuze, and looking down and seeing where her leg had been.

She opened her eyes.

She was lying down on a stiff cot. Still in the ducts—but in a roomier space that someone had set up shop in. Guns and armor, a few crates pushed together to form a table. A few lamps had been set up to dimly illuminate the space.

The orange glow of an omnitool lit the figure who was bent over her, fiddling with the wires in her leg.

Shepard sat up with a cry, reaching for the pistol that wasn't there. The figure didn't startle, but grabbed her shoulder and pinned her down. "Hold still," he said. "I nearly have it working again."

She watched as he returned to the circuitry. The turian from before, with the horrible face. Her eyes traced the pattern of scarring. Chunks of flesh were missing from his cheek, and the mandible hung at an odd angle. The plates hadn't yet healed up. Whatever had opened his face up like that, it was recent.

He turned and glanced at her. The scarring only covered half his face, but the light was so dim that she couldn't really tell what he looked like. "You're a maintenance technician, right?" he asked. "Sorry about this. I try to make it a point not to hurt civilians."

A desperate laugh bubbled up in her throat. "What kind of serial killer apologizes to their victims?" It had to be him. Some weirdo turian holed up beneath Terra Sector, sneaking around the ducts covered in blood and with a large gun collection…

He looked genuinely taken aback.  "What are you talking about?"

"Oh don't tell me you don't know."

"I…don't." He turned back to her leg. "I think I've got it. Hold on, this might be rough." He activated the circuitry, and her leg spasmed. Shepard winced, but she had feeling again. She bent her knee experimentally.

"That should do it," the turian said. "Sorry about this whole thing. I wasn't going to let you shoot me, though." He waved a hand. "You're not a bad shot. And that pistol? I haven't seen one that nice in a while. You're ex-military, right? With that leg…it's not a bad piece of hardware, not suited for combat though. And I noticed burn scars. I don't blame you for retiring."

"Do you make it a point to analyze all your victims first?"

"Why do you think I'm a serial killer?"

She snorted. "Oh I don't know. Who else crawls around the ducts and carries large guns?"

"You'd be surprised," he said, putting his tools away. "I've seen some things. But I'm not one of them. Relax."

She didn't. "Someone is killing humans in Terra Sector. I smelled blood on your armor. You do the math."

He made an irritated clicking sound. "I haven't heard about any killings."

"We humans tend to keep to ourselves. We don't trust easily. I'm sure you can figure out why."

"Is C-Sec investigating?"

"There's a Spectre on the case," she admitted. "He hasn't made much headway. People are reluctant to say anything to him."

He fluttered his mandibles. "Who is it?"

"Turian. Kryik, I think his name is."

"Oh yeah. Nihlus. I know you won't take my word for it, but you lot can trust him. He's not prejudiced against humans like a lot of people are."

"Are you?"

He turned to her, revealing the full extent of his scarring again. She bit down a shudder. "No," he said. "I've worked with a number of them. People are people. You get the good ones and the bad ones in any species."

"Which are you?"

"One of the good ones." He didn't hesitate in his reply.

"So why are you in hiding?"

"Long story."

"Ok. So why in a human sector of the Wards?"

He tipped his head back and forth, the turian equivalent of a shrug. "I like the music. Besides, no one's going think to look for a dead turian under a human theatre."

"You look pretty alive to me."

"The files on me would tell you otherwise." His gaze snapped to her, and bored into her eyes.

"I still don't believe you're not a serial killer."

"What would I have to do to convince you?"

Shepard glared. "First? Let me leave here alive. Second? The killings would have to stop."

"So you want me to track down your killer."

"That's not what I said."

He shook his head. "Whatever. Forget it. There's an exit that comes out in the theatre basement. It's only ten minutes away. I'll upload the route to your omnitool." He held his hands out in surrender and stepped back. "You're free to go. Just do me a favor. Don't tell anyone about this. And in return, I'll find your killer."

"What would happen if I told someone? Kryik, for one?"

"Nothing. I'd get dragged out of here, probably thrown in a C-Sec jail for things not related to serial killings. I have nothing to go back to. And the murders will continue. Until someone else manages to do something about it."

"We don't need your help." Shepard held out her wrist. "Coordinates, please."

He tapped a few buttons on his omnitool, then picked up her pistol by the barrel and held it out to her. She took it, but didn't holster it.  She kept the gun trained on him as she backed away.

"Next time," he said, "verify before shooting. A lot of orphaned kids live in the ducts."

"I'll keep that in mind." As soon as Shepard was out of sight, she turned and ran.


	2. Trio: "I don't doubt"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note, I highly recommend listening to all the music I mention in this fic. Do some googling, friends.

"Ah, Shepard!" Andre Harker greeted her. "Thank you so much for your prompt attention to that outage today. I don't know where my tax money goes, but it's certainly not to Citadel maintenance."

Shepard smiled at Harker. The artistic director of the Cultural Centre was tall and quick, almost salarian-like in his inability to sit still. "It wasn't a problem. I'm sorry you had to cancel the performance."

He waved a hand. "We're holding a special blackout concert by the orchestra tonight. Just a medley of operatic pieces, nothing fancy. Would you do us the honor of attending?"

"Oh—of course." Harker hadn't seemed phased at all when she emerged from the theatre basement a good hour later than expected. He was a good egg. A pillar of Terra Sector, although his views on the necessity of cultural exchange with other species raised some eyebrows. Harker enthusiastically embraced alien styles of art, and frequently invited guest artists, as well as encouraging alien audiences to attend human performances and exhibitions.

The current production of Wagner's _The Ring Cycle_ was an especial hit among aliens, especially asari and turians. The epic scale of the thing (although abbreviated; the piece had been cut drastically to fit into one night), along with the intrigue and mythological themes, was the talk of the Citadel artistic community. In some circles, Harker was praised for his daring vision, but in Terra Sector, many people weren't happy about the influx of aliens coming to watch the performance.

"We start at 2000 hours," Harker said. "There are a few people I want to introduce you to, so if you can make it an hour early, perhaps?"

She smiled. "Certainly. I'll see you then."

The walk back to her apartment did wonders to clear her head. Shepard drank in the sights of the skycars zipping against the backdrop of the Citadel lights and the expanse of the nebula. She waved to a few people she knew, and bought an iced tea. A Keeper trundled along the boulevard. She mentally flipped it off. The things were cute, but she ended up doing their job more often than not.

Speaking of which…her supervisor probably was aware that power to the arts district had been restored, but she sent him a quick message just in case. She didn't mention anything about the turian, instead explaining her delay with the excuse of a duct that had been closed off and forced her to take a longer route.

She still wasn't sure whether she was going to give him up, or even who she would tell. She decided to sit on it for now, but not take the option off the table entirely. It was possible that he was eccentric but harmless. But harmless people generally didn't keep a collection of rifles, live in secrecy, and wear bloodstained armor.

He'd seemed friendly enough, and hadn't harmed her. Still, Shepard figured that the odds were pretty low that Terra Sector housed both a serial killer and a weirdo in the basement.

When she got back to her apartment, she showered and checked on her leg. It seemed to be functioning just fine. She ran her hand over the simulated skin—too smooth to be mistaken for the real thing, but close enough to fool people from a distance. A parting gift from the Alliance. They'd paid for the surgery, the physical therapy, and a nice retirement bonus as well. They'd wanted her to stay on—offered her the world for it, but she'd had enough.

There were some things you couldn't forget, and the sight of her unit helpless before a Thresher Maw was one of them. But Akuze had only been the breaking point, she mused. She'd been uncomfortable with some of the operations the Alliance had carried out during the Blitz, and her role in deploying weaponry that had wiped out so many—and cost so many Alliance lives in the process—was enough to make her consider turning her engineering talents to other causes. Then there was Akuze. Then she'd said "fuck it", walked away, got her certification for spacecraft electrics, and gone to live a quiet life. A mundane end to what had been a celebrated military career, but Shepard didn't have any regrets.

She dressed in formal clothing for the concert, and heated up a quick dinner.

 

"Ah Shepard! Good to see you." Harker, with his customary enthusiastic greeting, offered his arm and led her into the theatre lobby.

Prothean Architecture had nothing on human Baroque. The lobby, geometric in form, was adorned with floral and mythological details. It was unlike any other structure on the Citadel. Beneath the great chandelier, peoples of all species mingled.

"Shepard, I'd like to introduce you to Nihlus Kryik, the Council Spectre looking into those unfortunate murders." Shepard nodded in greeting. The Spectre was tall, dressed in a black suit with red trim. Shepard didn't know much about what other species considered handsome, but Kryik might just fit that bill. He certainly was polite, offering her his hand in a human handshake.

"Good to meet you, Shepard." Kryik's voice was a pleasant baritone. "I've heard a lot about you."

She was taken aback. "From who? All of it good, I hope?"

Nihlus laughed. "Of course. Mostly from Alliance officers praising your work. I was sorry to hear you'd retired. I had hoped to recommend you as humanity's first Spectre candidate."

"What—really?" Amazement coursed through her. What an opportunity that might've been. "Well." She recovered. "Thank you for the consideration. I'm sorry my retirement proved inconvenient."

"If you ever decide to return to active service, just give me a yell." The Spectre winked and Shepard laughed. She decided that she liked him.

"Shepard, Kryik, shall we take our seats?" Harker offered her his arm, and she took it, smiling.

"It'll be good to have you tonight, Mr. Harker," the Spectre said as they made their way up the grand staircase to the theatre balcony. "I know very little about human music, human artforms, really. I'm sure you'll be able to enlighten me as we go."

"Of course!" Harker replied. "It's just a short revue tonight, mostly famous orchestral pieces. You won't need any sort of grounding to appreciate them, but if you wish…" Harker's voice faded out in Shepard's head as she looked up, taking in the details of the architecture.

The stage was starkly lit for the orchestra. The lights gleamed off their instruments. "…and here we are!" Harker sat Shepard in between him and Nihlus. Shepard sat, trying not to giggle as Nihlus tried to fold himself into a seat designed for human proportions. "The first piece is Mozart's overture to _The Marriage of Figaro,_ " Harker said, handing Shepard a program. And the house lights dimmed and Shepard relaxed into the sound of the dancing violins.

She glanced to the side every so often, watching Nihlus. He was clearly fascinated by the instruments and the sounds. His fingers (it was slightly disconcerting to her to see only three fingers on a hand) twitched along to the beat, and his head eagerly followed the melody as it was passed back and forth between sections.

The next piece was sprightly. Shepard found herself tapping her fingers as well. "The _Dance of the Hours,_ " Harker said. Afterwards, the orchestra stood and rearranged itself for the next piece. During the interlude, Nihlus bent his head in close to hers.

"I'm sure it's no secret that I've been having trouble with this investigation," the Spectre murmured.

"Of course it isn't," Shepard replied. "You're a turian Spectre. Humans don't still don't trust turians, and they certainly don't trust the Council. It was an empty gesture, sending you."

"I understand," Nihlus said. "And while I know the Council isn't serious about bringing these killings to an end, I certainly am. And I know I won't be able to do it alone. I need a partner. Someone who is known in Terra Sector, and someone with the experience and knowledge to be a real help to the investigation." He paused for a moment.

"If you're asking for my help, you could just say so," Shepard replied.

Nihlus smiled—she thought it was a smile—in response. "Of course," he said. "Forgive me. I wasn't sure how open you'd be to the idea. You being retired, me being turian, and all."

Shepard shrugged. "I have no problem working with good people who get the job done," she said. "And god knows I do not want to see one more person dead at the hands of a lunatic. Of course I'll work with you."

He nodded. "I appreciate it, I really do. But enough of this dreary subject." He tilted his head towards the stage. "And let's enjoy the music for one night before going out to confront murder."

Shepard grinned, and sat back in her seat. The next piece had a slightly mysterious vibe to it. "The Bacchanal from _Samson and Delilah,_ " Harker whispered to her. She nodded, and let her mind wander away with the music.

A few pieces later, and the orchestra rearranged itself again. "The last piece is a showcase for our current production," Harker said. " _The Ride of the Valkyries,_ of course." He smiled. "Truly a classic. You may have heard this before, Kryik, it's a very popular piece of music."

Violins hummed, and trumpets rose triumphantly through the theatre. Nihlus listened with his head tipped. "It reminds me of turian war anthems," he whispered at one point.

"Of course," Harker replied, his voice low. "In my opinion, the arts are one of the more effective ways to communicate across cultures."

After the piece ended, they stood. Nihlus shook Harker's hand. "Thank you," he said, "I enjoyed this a great deal." He ignored the human patrons shooting glares at him as they filed out. "And Shepard," he said, turning to her, "I'll be in touch. I hope you don't mind the possibility of taking some time off from your day job to assist?"

"Of course not," she replied. "Anything to make my days more interesting."

His expression turned serious. "I don't doubt this investigation will help with that."


	3. Trio: "Tired of this"

Nihlus arranged to meet her at the Terra Sector C-Sec precinct that next afternoon. Shepard happily took a few days off, eager to not crawl through ducts and possibly run into a) serial killer, or b) weirdo turian.

She was still debating what to do about the turian. Now that she was being brought into the investigation, it seemed a lot less ok to keep quiet about him.

But first, she'd hear what Nihlus had to say about the whole grim business.

Nihlus met her in the lobby. He was dressed in light armor this time. The officers on desk duty glanced up at her with interest. "Hey, Shepard!" someone called.

Nihlus nodded. "Glad to see I made the right judgement call in saying that you're well known in Terra Sector."

Shepard grinned. "I guess being an almost-war hero counts. So, what did you want to go over?"

They sat down in a private office, with a view of the skycar traffic zipping by. Nihlus passed her a data pad. "This is the case file. Everything I've got so far. Take a look, if you have any questions, let me know."

She skimmed over the index. A list of victims, persons of interest, a timeline of the case…the whole thing was thorough.

And gruesome. She swallowed when she saw the photos of the crime scenes. The dead were all laid out on their backs, scratches running across their faces and necks. Their throats were cut; there was blood everywhere. And then—their torsos had been cut open, and the organs removed and scattered next to the body.

Cause of death in all cases was the sliced throat. Some bodies showed signs of a struggle, others didn’t. There didn't seem to be a pattern to the people killed. Men, women, young, old—there was nobody under the age of 18, and Shepard thanked the heavens for that.

And they were all human.

No witnesses. Turned up in dark corners of Terra Sector, mostly fresh. The oldest body had been discovered a few days after death. Whoever this sick bastard was, they were missing him by hours.

Shepard eventually set down the datapad, and looked up. Nihlus was idly gazing out the window, but snapped to attention when she cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I probably should have warned you about how nasty this got. I didn't think."

She shook her head. "It's all right. No worse than I saw in the military." But in the military, people generally didn't mutilate their victims in this deliberate way.

He turned back to the window again. "So now you know how desperate I am. Twelve dead. No witnesses, no firm suspects. I've had a million theories, but none of them fit all the facts of the case. I appreciate you doing this, Shepard. Spirits know I need a fresh pair of eyes."

"Glad to help," Shepard said, and picked up the data pad again, this time opening the autopsy files.

The blade used was a sharp one, she learned. Same weapon used both to kill and to open up the corpse. The organs were carefully cut out in the same order every time. Shepard checked the photos again.

"The viscera is arranged the same way in every case," she said, sliding the datapad across the table.

Nihlus didn't pick it up. "I know. And always scattered on the right side of the body. Some sort of calling card, perhaps, or a sick ritual. Or maybe the killer is left handed."

Shepard snorted. "I think that last one is unlikely."

He picked up the datapad and opened another file, passing it back to her. "They were all taken in the course of their daily routine. Usually at night. And nothing shows up on the security cameras. I've been over that footage again and again. The killer is smart, Shepard. They know how to remain undetected. They somehow have been able to kill a person and gut them without being spotted in the act. And then they just vanish into thin air." He rubbed his head. "To be frank, I'm tired of this. Two more people have been killed since I was put on the case. And it is so damn frustrating to arrive on a crime scene and think that you could've prevented this, if you just put in a little more time, if you just looked at things in a slightly different way." He twitched out a mandible. "The Council usually has me running and gunning after smuggling gangs. That tends to be a much easier problem to solve."

Shepard shut down the datapad. "I'll take a better look at these files tonight," she said. "In the meantime, would you mind showing me all the places where the victims were discovered? Might be interesting."

"Of course," he said, and smiled (she was pretty sure it was a smile). "We'll make an outing of it. Get lunch somewhere."

"Is there even anywhere in Terra Sector that serves dextro?" Shepard slipped the datapad in her bag, and followed Nihlus out of the office.

"I have no idea," Nihlus replied. "I've mostly been eating frozen stuff for the past three weeks."

She laughed.

On their way out of the station, an alarm went off. "Code 11-B in Zakera Ward. Repeat, we have a code 11-B in Zakera Ward. Level 3, subsection 24. Deploying CSR team."

The officers looked up, then started muttering. "What's an 11-B?" Shepard asked.

"Gang activity," Nihlus replied.

"If it's Zakera, it's the Thorns," a human officer added.

"Every day, I thank God that we're in Bachjret Ward. I don't fancy ever crossing those bastards," another man said.

Someone grimaced. "Cop killers."

"The Thorns are a human smuggling syndicate," Nihlus said to her. "I've been sent against them a few times. They're nasty."

"The kid didn't deserve that," someone said.

" _Nobody_ deserves that."

"There wasn't even a body left to bury. I felt so bad for his father when I found out."

"I might be called in if they need reinforcements," Nihlus said. "I should stay here, monitor the situation. If you want to go home and keep looking at those files—I'll see you tomorrow."

"Not a problem," Shepard said. She raised a hand in a wave. "Later. Good luck with those guys."

"Code Red," the speaker announced. "Archangel is present. Repeat, Archangel is present. Response team, take precautions."

"That's my cue," Nihlus grumbled. "Damned vigilantes. Think they can fix the world with a gun and a bad attitude."

"Eh, I dunno," an officer said. "I'd be fine if Archangel burned 'em all. They deserve no less."

Shepard exited the station quietly, not wanting to linger in the situation.

Outside, there was no sign of the chaos in the next ward over. People bustled up and down the streets, skycars zipped overhead. Just another day in Terra Sector. A few people waved when they saw Shepard.

She decided to grab a late lunch. She plopped down at a small table on the patio, and pulled the datapad out of her bag, going back over the files. She avoided the photographs, not wanting to ruin her appetite.

She didn't gain any new insights with her sandwich. Shepard had previously had an idea of why Nihlus was so frustrated, but going through the data on her own really helped drive that home. There was nothing. No leads. No trail to follow. No idea of when or where the killer would strike again. Nothing but to clutch at straws and helplessly wait for the next victim.

Shepard didn't like feeling helpless. It reminded her too much of Akuze.

 

There technically was no day/night cycle in the Wards, but activity died down around the evening all the same. The humans of Terra Sector found it too difficult to conduct business and get things done if everyone was running on different schedules.

Shepard lingered late, trying to quash her unease by surrounding herself with the evening pedestrians. She usually liked finding solitude, taking quiet paths through the Sector, but with the details of the killings haunting her mind, she was less at ease with solitude now.

She slipped the datapad into her bag, checked to make sure her pistol was at her hip, and set off.

Five minutes later, she ended up in an intersection where her brain reminded her that one of the killings had taken place. Shepard swallowed, and stopped in the middle of the streets. A few people hurried by; the traffic was dying down.

She looked up, carefully stepped in a circle, taking in the scene. A tall building there, an open window there, a skycar landing there.

Too many hiding places, too many escape routes. All but deserted at this hour. Her eyes glanced up, caught a security camera. From the case file, she knew that it swept 360 degrees every fifteen minutes. The footage at the time of the crime was clean.

Somebody knew this area well, and took full advantage. And that went for each of the other crime scenes as well. No trace was left behind.

She set off, walking faster, her heart beginning to pound. _Calm down, Shepard,_ she told herself. _No reason to think the killer is out tonight. It's been about one body a week, and the latest one was found five days ago. You're probably safe._

She found herself glancing into every back street she passed.

And there. A silhouette, leaning down, backlit by the lights of the Ward. No reason for someone to be kneeling down in a back alley at this time of night. Shepard instinctively pulled up her omnitool's radar and drew her pistol. She pulled back into the shadows and crept into the alley.

Her footsteps were silent. As she approached, she could see that there was something else. A lump. No.

A body.

She touched her omnitool, cued a blazing light, and flicked it on as she stepped out and pointed her pistol at the figure. "Freeze!"

And after her eyes adjusted, she could see that it was her strange turian, kneeling down next to a human body. His arm shot up, shielding his eyes from the light. As Shepard took in the details of the scene, she noticed that the body was cut open. The organs arranged in the same way as in all the photos.

"You," she snarled. She'd been stupid. She should've turned him in the moment she got out of the ducts.

The turian lowered his arm, showing off his scarred face in stark relief. "Ouch," he muttered. "Can you turn that down a little?"

"Stand up," she ordered. "Hands on your head." He didn't move. "Hands on your head!" she repeated.

He blinked. "Oh. It's you. Oh, spirits. I'm not—I just got here a few minutes before you did. I didn't kill her."

Shepard didn't lower her gun. "Prove it to me."

He sighed, his bad mandible flaring out from his face. "I've been investigating your killer in my spare time," he said.

"Your spare time," she repeated, incredulous. "What takes up most of your day? Killing people?"

"Yes," he replied. "No—what?" Increasingly flustered, he waved a hand at the dead woman. "Look. You told me that you'd believe I wasn't the killer if the deaths stopped. I know I'm not the killer, therefore, the only way to stop the deaths is to find the actual murderer. Which I've been working on." He stood. "Anyway, your killer's a turian."

"A turian?" Shepard asked. "How do you know? Unless that's a confession."

He sighed again. "No. Anyway, the way the body's been cut open? The organs laid out? That's actually a prehistoric Palaveni ritual. Turian sacrifice. It was done as a way of appealing to the higher spirits. See, the way the organs are arranged, it forms a conduit for the individual spirit—"

"It's a turian thing," she interrupted, "so how come Nihlus didn't say anything? He's turian."

"He's colonial. He wouldn't know about it." The turian shrugged. "Your killer is most likely a Palaveni-born turian. And you're calling him Nihlus now?"

"He has me working on the case with him," Shepard said. "So if I find out you're culpable, I'll hand you in faster than you can blink." She paused. "You know about this so-called ritual. I take it you're Palaveni?"

He nodded.

"So why implicate yourself? And why are you trying to prove to me that you're not a killer? Why do you care so much about what I think?"

He folded his arms and clicked his mandibles. "You said it yourself. You'll turn me in. It's a matter of self-preservation. And second," he said, "I looked you up."

Shepard blinked.

He shrugged. "I'm former C-Sec. It wasn't hard. Anyway, I was impressed. You had a hell of a career. Pretty cool that I got to meet you. So yeah, I don't want you thinking horrible things about me." He turned. Shepard got a view of the massive sniper rifle strapped to his back. "Go on," he said, "call it in. I'll keep investigating on my own. We should put our heads together sometime. Might turn up some theories." With that, he vanished into the shadows.

Shepard stood for a moment, then lowered her pistol. She opened a com line to Nihlus. "Nihlus? It's me. I'm sending you my coordinates. We've got another victim."

One thing was for sure, she thought, gazing down at the body. Her mysterious turian was a giant _nerd._


	4. "Breakthroughs"

"Emma Duvall," Nihlus said. "Twenty four years of age. Worked as a florist in an asari-run shop. The location where she was found is en route between her apartment and her job." He put his elbows on the table and leaned his head into his hands. "Less than an hour passed between her death and you finding the body." He paused. "This is the closest we've ever come to finding something. And yet…" He trailed off.

Shepard glanced again at the photos up on the display. In life, Emma Duvall had curly brown hair. In death, that hair was matted in blood.

Nihlus had come as soon as she'd called last night. Within minutes, the alley was swarming with C-Sec, bright lights set up. Not a shadow escaped their notice. The crime scene was processed quickly, and the body photographed from every angle, then bagged and taken away.

Shepard had wanted to continue investigating. Nihlus yawned. "Go to bed, Shepard. We won't know anything until we get an ID and the forensic data back."

"How'd it go with the Thorns?" she asked.

"They scattered quickly enough once the response team showed." Nihlus shrugged. "They're cowards when outnumbered. Ever since they killed that one officer, we've sent a CSR team for everything involving them. Haven't been any further issues." He twitched a mandible. "Except for that vigilante."

"Yeah, what was that about?"

Nihlus rubbed his forehead. "Someone who's got it in for the Thorns. I'll give the bastard this much, he's a good shot. Sets up where he can oversee their operations, then he'll pick a bunch off before they can realize and start panicking." He dropped his hand, and clenched his mandibles. "I was so close to getting him today…it's just one more complication we don't need when dealing with gang activity of this magnitude."

Shepard shrugged. "Sounds like he's on the right side, at least."

"Vigilantes are on no side but their own." That was all he would say on the matter. They departed the scene not long after that.

Now, sitting in the precinct office, Shepard looked down at her datapad, containing the info they'd gotten back from forensics so far. Everything looked horribly familiar. Throat slit, organs rearranged, not a trace of the killer.

Nothing.

Nothing, except for a small lead she'd gotten from her mysterious turian.

"Do you have access to academic databases with your Spectre credentials?" she asked.

"I can get you into any database you need," Nihlus replied. "Why?"

 "Just want to verify something that might help us."

He nodded, and sent her some login data.

 

An hour later, they'd gone over the evidence forwards and backwards, dug up contact information of people to interview (Emma Duvall's roommate, and the asari who owned the flower shop), and ordered lunch to be delivered.

Lunch hadn't even arrived before the precinct got another call related to Thorns activity. Nihlus groaned. "I did not need this now. I'll be back later."

Shepard watched him leave, then pulled open the database access he'd given her.

She entered a few key words, and the hours ticked away as she got further into her reading.

Her strange turian hadn't been lying. The ritual slaughter and removal of organs was well documented from burials in prehistoric turian sites. Each organ, it was thought, represented an appeal to the titans that were believed to have walked Palaven in pre-spaceflight times. There was no literature from the time to explain why, but there were pictographs left behind that gave clues.

Although there was no way to decipher the actual meaning behind the act, Shepard thought she could guess. The people dismembered ritually in ancient history were commonly criminals, outcasts, people who weren't wanted.

None of the victims now had any criminal history. Rather, Shepard thought, their killer was sending a message about humans. That humans were undesirable, and therefore good only for ritual slaughter.

She shuddered at the implications.

It suggested a non-human killer, at least. If not a turian, than someone familiar with turian archaeology. And someone with a strong grudge against humans.

However she looked at it, she probably owed her strange turian an apology for doubting him.

The thought was chased from her mind when Nihlus returned. Shepard looked up. His armor had a few scorch marks on it, but no serious damage. She gestured over to the minifridge. "I wrapped up your lunch."

Nihlus smiled. "Appreciate it." He paused. "I have a good feeling about today. I managed to get a shot at Archangel. Hopefully it'll put him out of commission for a while, and we can work on taking the Thorns out without his 'help'." The one-finger airquotes were kind of endearing, Shepard thought. "What about you? Any breakthroughs?"

"Actually…"

"Really?" Nihlus's face lit up. "I was half-joking."

She passed him her datapad. "I've got a reference for the way the victims are being eviscerated."

As he scanned the datapad, his face fell, and the hide on his throat paled. "Shepard. This is…very interesting."

"Are you ok?" she asked.

"Yeah…" He trailed off. "Just…had a thought. I'd rather confirm it before I say anything, though…" He looked up and handed back her datapad. "Thank you, Shepard. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Wait—!" Shepard called, but Nihlus was already gone.

 

She made her way through the ducts, the coordinates in her omnitool guiding her way.

She hoped her mysterious turian would still be holed up where she first found him. The ducts were cramped, and she knew that her leg was going to be aching tonight.

As she approached the spot, she could hear faint voices. After a moment, she was able to make out two people talking. One was her turian. The other…

As she rounded the corner, the words reached her ears. "You have to be careful." A French accent.

"You know me." The turian. "Always careful."

A snort. "I know you well enough to know that's a lie." A pause. "Just promise me…"

"I have to lay low for a while, anyways. It'll be fine."

Shepard stopped a few meters away from the little hideout. She didn't want to startle anyone. "Excuse me," she called.

There was a pause, and some rustling. "Wait, it's alright," she heard someone say.

"Shepard," someone called, and it was the turian. "Didn't think you'd actually want to talk with me. It's ok, you can come on in."

She stepped around the corner, and was met with a strange sight. Her turian was sitting on his cot, shirtless, while a human with red hair bandaged up his arm. The human glanced behind her. "Who is this?" she asked.

"Shepard, this Dr. Chloe Michel. Chloe, this is Kristine Shepard."

"Kris," she corrected. He'd mispronounced her full name. That was ok. She never went by it anyway. She held out her hand for Michel to shake.

Michel shook her head, and pulled off the nitrile gloves she'd been wearing. Only then did she reach out and take Shepard's hand. "A pleasure," she said.

"What happened?" Shepard asked.

"Got shot," the turian replied. He flexed his arm, and winced slightly. "Not the worst I've ever had, but still stings."

Michel put a hand over her eyes. "Try not to damage the sutures so soon."

"Lucky I always have you to patch me up." He grinned.

"Who shot you?" Shepard asked.

"Not sure," the turian said. "I think it was some member of a C-Sec response team."

"And that is why you'll give this up," Michel said.

"C-Sec?" Shepard asked. "Why were they after you?"

"They weren't," he said. "They got in my way. I've been working on this gang for weeks now, and C-Sec hasn't been too happy about me doing that."

Like a bolt of lightning, the pieces suddenly connected in her head. " _You're_ that vigilante," she said. "You're Archangel, aren't you?"

The turian shifted on the cot. "Is that what they're calling me now?"

"So when you let slip about killing people, you weren't kidding," Shepard muttered. She sighed. "I came to apologize about suspecting you."

Archangel looked up. "What—oh, spirits. No need. I'd've suspected me too."

"And thank you for telling me about why they'd been cut up," she said. "I think Nihlus might've found that information useful." She refrained from mentioning that Nihlus had also been the one to shoot him.

"Oh good. I'm glad." He turned to her, which revealed that his scars went all the way down his neck and into his shoulders. There were white spots—burn scars, Shepard realized—and an area where he'd lost the smooth line of his cowl—a whole chunk was missing. She managed to keep her revulsion to herself this time.

"If you're that vigilante," she said suddenly, "you need to lay low. Back off. There's a target on your head too—not just the Thorns."

His eyes narrowed. "I will be fine," he said, his voice clipped. "And even if I'm not, taking out the Thorns is worth it."

"She's right," Michel said. "You nearly died the first time. I can't keep pulling you out of the fire. What happens when I can't be there?"

"You obviously don't get it," he snarled. "I don't care if I die. All I want is to see the Thorns wiped off the map." He lifted his head, showing off the full extent of his scarring. "You see this? That was them. I got hit by one of their gunships. They left me for dead, and I would've died if I hadn't been able to contact Chloe and get her help. They have no issue with killing civilians. They need to be stopped."

"So leave it to C-Sec!" Shepard said. "It's their job, not yours."

"C-Sec doesn't have the firepower," he said. "C-Sec has to abide by the regs. They're limited in what they can do. I'm not."

Michel met Shepard's eyes and shook her head. Shepard got the feeling they'd had this argument many times.

"Look," she said, "whatever you chose to do, I'm glad you decided to help me. Maybe this isn't a great time to be discussing things."

"Sorry," he said, turning away again. "But yeah. I'll keep an eye out for your serial killer. I just—I don't want innocent people dying. Not when I can do something about it."

"I understand," Shepard said. "That’s why I'm on this case."


End file.
